


Workin' Hard or Hardly Workin' Eh?

by star_child



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Convenience Store, Alternate Universe - Library, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-11-13 18:40:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11191026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_child/pseuds/star_child
Summary: workplace shenanigans ensue





	1. Noodle Face vs Salad Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> i work in a restaurant on the weekends. enjoy the things that have happened to me/my coworkers

“Hinata,  _ why _ does your breath stink so bad?” Noya demands, positioning himself as far away as he can manage in the cramped staff booth. The restaurant noise around them covers the conversation from anyone sitting in the booths near them. “Have you been talking to customers like that?”

Hinata pouts. “My sister and I had an argument a couple days ago. She got super pissed I guess, so she chopped the bristles off my toothbrush.”

Yamaguchi, across from them, looks up from his phone. Noya blinks, exchanges a look with Tanaka, beside Yamaguchi. Even Tsukishima stops moving across the aisle, the bag of takeout sitting half prepared on the counter.

“She… cut the bristles off your toothbrush?” Noya finally echoes.

“Right?! Like who does that??”

Yamaguchi’s screen darkens from disuse. “What the hell were you arguing about that you got her that mad?” he asks. “Chopped the bristles off…” he repeats under his breath.

Hinata waves his hand around. “We were fighting about how she messed up her scheduling and refused to take responsibility for it. Y’know how she usually busses Friday nights and I do Saturdays?”

“Yeah,” Tanaka agrees.

“Yeah why are you here?” Tsukishima interrupts.

“Well,  _ tonight _ I’m here because  _ I _ have something to do tomorrow night so she switched with me, but this was last week.”

Tsukishima wrinkles his nose. “I wasn’t here last week.”

“I know, I didn’t have to deal with you, it was heaven.”

_ “Savage,” _ Noya mutters. Tsukishima almost looks offended.

“So she was supposed to go to a party on Saturday night, so it wasn’t an issue, but then apparently it got switched to Friday night and she didn’t tell me until literally an hour before her shift was supposed to start and she wasn’t even  _ home  _ so I didn’t really have a choice.”

Tanaka leans forward, then leans back a little when he gets a whiff of Hinata’s breath. “So if it’s her fault for ditching, why’d she hack up your toothbrush?”

“Because  _ I  _ told my  _ mom _ and then  _ Natsu _ got  _ grounded _ because apparently it was like a  _ college party  _ or something and my mom didn’t  _ know _ about it so Natsu was all mad at  _ me… _ Just a mess, overall.”

“Isn't she like, fifteen years old?” Yamaguchi asks.

“Yeah?”

“That girl is a savage,” Noya says, sounding a little bit awed. “I wish  _ I  _ was going to college parties at fifteen.”

“She doesn't screw around,” Tsukishima agrees, getting back to work.

Tanaka turns to blink at his best friend. “We went to a college party when we were fourteen.”

“Oh my God, you’re right.”

“But Hinata, seriously? Brush your teeth.”

* * *

Noya stands at the window to the kitchen, head against the wooden siding, groaning dramatically. Daichi keeps prepping the dish he’s working on, but glances worriedly at him every few seconds. “What’s wrong?” he finally asks with a sigh, figuring Noya is going to stand there forever if no one asks him to share.

“No… it’s nothing…” he sighs.

Daichi rolls his eyes. “It’s obviously  _ something, _ Nishinoya, you’ve been here for five minutes. Don’t you have customers that need attention?”

“They don’t matter,” Noya groans, pressing his forehead against the metal counter. Tsukishima walks up to stab an order slip. “Nothing matters.”

“What’s this then?”

“Noya’s being angsty and won’t tell us why,” Suga pops up, appearing on the other side of the window beside Daichi, who nods in confirmation.

“It’s probably just something stupid,” Tsukishima scoffs. “What’s the matter, little guy? Did you get a haircut and now you’re not as tall? Do one backflip too many and now you can’t get your head out of your –”

Daichi loudly puts a dish down on the counter. “Yamaguchi!” he shouts. The green haired boy comes bustling over from the small bar to take the plates and distribute them to their tables.

Noya takes a deep breath. “Mom, Dad,” he starts, looking between Suga and Daichi respectively. Daichi raises his eyebrows, Suga smiles. “I’m pregnant.”

Daichi goes back to cooking.

“Who’s the father?” Suga asks, content to run with this.

“Me,” Noya admits, pretending to deflate.

“Who’s the mother?” Tsukishima asks, “Who’s the  _ other?” _

“Me,” Noya says again.

“Wow I'm impressed,” Tsukishima deadpans, taking the plate Daichi puts on the counter, “That takes a lot of flexibility.” He walks away immediately after, and once Noya absorbs the words he nearly chokes on his own spit.

* * *

By all definitions, Noya and Tanaka are best friends. They buy each other shitty gifts, they have matching tattoos, they work together, they even live together. Ever since they got out of college, they've been splitting the rent for a two bedroom apartment.

Sure the bathroom sink drips, and none of the doors work right, and the fridge has weird stains and the carpet smells weird, but the heat works and it's full of four years worth of their junk, so they consider it a nice place.

Noya yanks open the heavy curtains, sending a groaning Tanaka crashing to the floor in an attempt to escape the harsh sunlight.

“RISE AND SHINE, IT’S TIME TO GRIND!!” he shouts.

“WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?” Tanaka groans.

“Get the fuck up, lazy bones!” Noya continues, ripping blankets out from around Tanaka so he’s jerked around on the floor. “We’re goin’ to the gym! Get up! Time to work for it, bro!”

“You’re a dick! Work for  _ what?” _

Noya successfully pulls away all the blankets, dumping them in a heap back on Tanaka’s bed. “For  _ it,  _ my guy. It's not just gonna bring itself to you!”

Tanaka pushes himself to his feet, standing hunched in his boxers and a tank top. “If you're talking about muscles, I have those. If you're talking about chicks, I literally have a girlfriend right now.”

“And you think you got her with what?” Noya asks, digging through Tanaka’s bureau looking for workout clothes. “Your bulging bank account?” He holds up a shirt, smells it, tosses it in the corner. “No. Maybe your sense of style?” He smells another shirt. “Whoo!  _ No. _ Your glorious bod?” He smells a clean shirt, spins on his heel and chucks it at Tanaka’s head.  _ “Yes! _ Get dressed, jackass, eat something. We leave in ten.”

* * *

The employees of Karasuno’s get a free dinner every night that they work. They can order anything off the menu, or mix and match, as long as it's not a special, because they're in limited supply, or seafood, because it comes at market price. They can choose to ignore this as well, and eat something from home or nothing at all.

Most of the employees of Karasuno’s do not work there full time, especially the ones who do the dinner shift. Many of them have day jobs, and only work one or two nights a week for extra money.

This is the case with Noya, who outside of waiting tables is a competitive gymnast. Olympic level, in fact. They’re all very proud.

Being at such a high level, of course, means he has to take care of his body: workout constantly, adhere to a very strict diet. He can’t get anything off the menu that isn’t some kind of salad, so for the most part he brings something in from home.

Today it's simple, just some fried rice with carrots and some other junk, whatever he felt like tossing in there. And their second smallest employee won't leave him the hell alone for it.

Hinata peers over his shoulder, wrinkling his nose at the bowl. “What are all those little yellow bits?” he demands. “Is that mold?”

Noya bats him away for the hundredth time. “It’s  _ egg!” _ he shouts, fully fed up by now with Hinata’s pestering. “What’s the matter with you, huh?! Just let me eat!”

“I'm just  _ saying,” _ Hinata presses, “It looks like mold. I'd be careful, if I were you.”

“I literally made it this morning!” Noya shrieks, voice edging on hysteria. “I know what I put in it, leave me alone!”

Hinata squints his eyes in suspicion, but backs away to get back to work.

* * *

Hinata is in the middle of a  _ very _ long story.

Daichi lost track of what was happening about five minutes ago, and that was  _ after _ he managed to keep up for the first five minutes. He loves Hinata to pieces, of course he does, but there’s only so much of him he can take.

He eyes the strainers full of pasta beside him. It would be so easy… He’s done it to Noya…

_ “Don’t,” _ Suga suddenly hisses from beside him, having seen where his eyes are drifting.

Daichi nods, half listening to Suga and hardly listening to the chatterbox redhead still prattling on across the counter. He’ll just have to wait until Suga leaves, then.

And he does, just a minute later, to check on something in the back of the kitchen.

Daichi takes his chance. He’s been working this whole time, so he’s easy enough to reach into one of the strainers and grab…

Hinata  _ shrieks. _

“DID YOU JUST THROW SPAGHETTI AT ME??” he cries, peeling the noodle off his forehead. “What the  _ fuck, _ Daichi??”

“Watch your language,” Tsukishima calls from the takeout counter around the corner. “This is a family restaurant. There’s kids in here.”

“Do you know what he just did to me??” Hinata demands, shaking the noodle violently.

“Whatever it was, you probably deserved it.”

Hinata leans around the corner and whips the noodle at Tsukishima.

* * *

Yamaguchi slides into the staff booth, looking a little dazed.

“What's the trouble now, Freckles,” Noya asks, not looking up from where he's adding up a check.

“Some old lady… This old lady just had me cut her granddaughter’s food.”

They're all quiet.

Noya looks up from his calculator. “That's not that weird.”

“It's kinda weird,” Hinata allows.

Tsukishima shakes his head, gets up to greet someone at the takeout counter.

“Listen honey,” Noya starts, scribbling the total and looking up, “I been working here since I was fifteen. Know how many years that is?”

Hinata squints at him, shifting to count on his fingers under the table. The silence stretches and stretches as they all turn to look at him. “What year were you born?” Hinata asks.

“It's ten years, stupid,” Tsukishima barks from around the corner.

“A decade,” Noya repeats. “You will experience some  _ weird shit.” _ With this he gets up to deliver the check.

Hinata and Yamaguchi sit in silence, unsure how to proceed.

“Ya know…” Hinata finally sighs, reaching up to stretch his arms, I've been working here for about eight months.” He bends side to side, cracking his back. “I'm basically ready to have the baby.”

Yamaguchi bursts out laughing.

“Yep. Gotta tell Daichi I got the Karasuno baby brewin’.”

“Are you an idiot,” Tsukishima deadpans, sticking his head around the corner, “It takes nine months to have a baby.”


	2. Local Trashcan Finds Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i will just. never get over the idea of the seijouh boys in a tattoo shop. these are mostly misc situations, could probs happen in any environment

There’s a knocking sound coming from the back hallway.

“Hey…” Terushima starts. “Do you guys hear that?”

Iwaizumi puts down his pen and takes the earbud out of his right ear. Makki and Mattsun stop wrestling around with the piercer. Even Yahaba and Watari look up from where they’re taking snapchats of Kyoutani giving himself a tattoo.

“Hear what?” Mattsun asks when they’ve all spent a few seconds sitting in silence.

“Where is Oikawa?” Iwaizumi asks, eyes flicking around his store.

The knocking comes from the hallway again, and everyone’s heads turn toward it.

“Oh don’t tell me…” Iwaizumi mutters, and the rest turn to look in confusion as he shoves away from his desk and starts to storm down the back hallway. He pauses and backtracks after a few steps, pointing accusingly at Kyoutani. “And you! You better pay for that.” He stomps off.

“Do I get a discount?” Kyoutani wonders aloud.

“Depends on how good of a job you do,” Mattsun says.

“What’s even back there?” Yahaba whispers to Watari.

“Maybe the bathroom? You’ve worked here longer than I have,” Watari whispers back.

Suddenly there’s shouting.

“Shittykawa! What are you doing?! Get out of the bathroom!”

They hear a muffled whine of, “I caaaan’t.”

“Why not?!”

It goes quiet. They assume Oikawa is speaking at a normal volume and only Iwaizumi can hear. Then it’s silent for another few moments.

Everyone jumps when Iwaizumi bursts into laughter, bellowing and almost hysterical. He starts at least a few different sentences, but all of them dissolve into laughter. “You fucking –!” he wheezes. “What an – Oh my –! Ohh, you’ve really –! You done it now!”

“Just let me out!!” Oikawa shrieks through the door.

They hear Iwaizumi twist the knob and throw the door open, watch as he comes stumbling out of the back hallway, tears in his eyes and trailed by a hurt looking Oikawa. He’s rubbing his hands all over each other.

“What happened here?” Makki asks, eyebrows drawn together in mild worry.

“You’re gonna get wrinkles,” Mattsun warns him offhandedly.

“This fucking – This idiot!” Iwaizumi chokes. “Tell them, Tooru. Tell everyone what you just did.”

Oikawa pouts, staring at his old galaxy painted shoes. He mumbles something for a few seconds before Iwaizumi hits him on the arm.

“Louder, you dumbass, I’m never gonna let you live this down.”

Oikawa sighs, tilting his chin back to stare into the far corner of the ceiling instead. “Someone bought new lotion, so I wanted to try it, and my hands were too…  _ lotiony _ to twist the handle. Are you happy?”

Terushima bursts out cackling. Makki and Mattsun  _ howl, _ slapping each other on the back and trying not to fall over and knock down the whole piercing booth in their hysteria. Yahaba and Watari aren’t much better off, and even Kyoutani puts down his tattoo gun to chuckle.

* * *

Of all the people in the tattoo shop, Terushima thinks he knows Makki the least. It's not that the man is particularly closed off or anything, he's very friendly and always willing to talk and joke, but he never dips below the surface of his own feelings. Terushima takes almost every opportunity to get near him.

It's especially interesting when Oikawa and Iwaizumi and bickering, and Making and Mattsun provide their snide commentary. When he's an unpaid intern, he has to make this job worth the while  _ somehow. _

“Oikawa I'm the  _ only _ one who uses this brand for white ink,” Iwaizumi growls, waving the bottle in his face again.

“Which is why it's  _ ridiculous  _ to claim you found it in  _ my  _ station,” Oikawa sniffs, turning his nose up.

_ “Oikawa,” _ Iwaizumi growls, “It was obviously fucking  _ you  _ who took it, will just  _ stop?” _

Oikawa whips his arms up to cross over his chest. “I call on Mattsun as my witness!” he cries.

Despite sitting literally between them, Terushima does not see Mattsun or Makki flinch in the slightest. They share only an unimpressed glance before Mattsun tilts his head and leans back on his palm, the picture of nonchalance.

“If I’m expected to play lawyer, I expect to get paid like one,” he drawls.

Oikawa gasps, “Mattsun, I thought we were friends! I thought out of the goodness of your heart you would support me!”

“We don’t get paid enough as is,” Makki grumbles, too low for anyone but Teru to hear. Startled, he turns to look at him, quickly lowering his eyelids to match the two older boys on either side of him lest they think him uncool for reacting too much.

He huffs to cover it up, “At least you  _ get  _ paid.”

Makki lets out a short bark of a laugh, but it doesn’t sound derisive. It’s more shocked, filled with a bit of startled humor. “You get paid in  _ enriching experience,” _ he informs Terushima.

They watch Oikawa throw an arm around Matsukawa, standing on his toes to reach. He waves his other arm dramatically at Iwaizumi, shouting about workplace integrity and the importance of trusting one another.

Terushima snorts back, “Oh it's an experience, all right.”

* * *

With the chaos that happens out in the shop, sometimes Iwaizumi’s office is the only place he can escape without retreating fully to his apartment above. It’s also the only place with any sort of privacy, which is exactly what he needs, if he’s going to wrap Oikawa’s birthday present without him seeing it.

Focused intently, he jumps a foot in the air when the door slams open so hard it bounces back off the wall, probably leaving a dent that he’s going to have to pay to fix.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Makki bellows, his fast monotone implying he’s just found a child that must be stopped immediately.

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!” Iwaizumi shrieks back, a hand over his heart in a vain attempt to still it.

“What’s going oooon?!” Makki shouts again. Mattsun pokes his head in around Makki’s shoulder, curious what they’re shouting about.

“I’m just. I’m  _ wrapping  _ a  _ present,” _ he hisses, shoving the box forward on his desk.  _ “Fuck, _ what did you think I was doing?”

Makki strolls into the office, looking about casually like he  _ didn’t _ just break the wall. “Wasn’t sure. Needed to find out.” He approaches the desk, picking up the box. Mattsun follows, hands folded behind his back, sleepy eyes surveying the scene.

“Hey. Don’t touch that. It’s not done.”

“You call this a wrapping job?” Makki sneers, turning the present around in his hands. The paper is wrinkled in most places, torn in some others. It’s in the process of being mummified with tape. “My six year old niece can do better than this.”

Mattsun pokes at the box, face revealing the barest hint of disgust. “Christ, Iwaizumi,” he mutters, “I thought you were an artist.”

Iwaizumi huffs. “Well I didn't major in gift wrapping! Get out of my office! Go! Shoo! And don’t tell Oikawa what it is!”

* * *

Oikawa walks in with two neon yellow markers taped to his face. He doesn’t say anything, just heads over to his station and begins wiping it down, taking stock of his inks and organizing his needles.

Iwaizumi, after knowing him for two and a half decades, hardly flinches, doesn't shout or get upset or make a big deal. He turns off his needle and looks up from the customer he’s currently tattooing. “What are you doing,” he deadpans. After all the weird shit Oikawa has pulled in this lifetime, it takes a little more than this to startle him out of his indifference.

The customer lifts her head as well, a young girl in her teens who immediately jumps at the chance to witness whatever is going to follow.

“I'm trying a new highlighter,” Oikawa replies, holding one of his needles under the light to clean it more thoroughly. “No one looks this good  _ naturally, _ Iwa-chan, a little extra on money on makeup is worth it to not look like a barbarian.

One of the highlighters comes untaped from his cheekbone, falling over only to rip the bottom piece of tape free as well and clatter to the floor. Oikawa hardly glances at it, just kicks it under his chair.

“Leave my shop,” Iwaizumi tells him, “Don't come back.”

* * *

Terushima wondered when he first started working here who the ‘shop menace’ Iwaizumi consistently referenced during his interview was. His first day had managed to rule out Yahaba and Watari, the receptionist and Iwaizumi’s apprentice respectively. They kept mostly to themselves, didn’t cause trouble.

His second day lead him to believe it was Makki, after watching him actually whip his dick out and pierce it on a dare from Mattsun. Then he thought it was Mattsun, two weeks later when he went outside during rush hour, naked except for a sign advertising the shop over his junk, and pole danced on a lamp post. Iwaizumi had to pay him extra to get him back inside before he got arrested.

Sometime during his second month, he thought it was Kyoutani, when he watched him give himself a tattoo during his lunch break as Yahaba and Watari took snapchats.

But as Oikawa steps over the threshold to stand in the center of the entryway, planting himself directly in Terushima’s line of sight, he suddenly remembers every ridiculous thing the man has done since he’s started working here.

He raises one thin, pierced eyebrow. “What's up with the scarf, man?”

Oikawa glances over, or at least Terushima assumes he does, considering his eyes are covered by dark sunglasses. He probably makes eye contact, probably holds it. Terushima blinks at him in the stillness. Slowly, Oikawa reaches up and tugs the side of the scarf down. His neck is covered in dark hickeys, a mottled patchwork of red and purple over cream.

The other eyebrow goes up. If this job has taught him anything, it’s to take everything in stride. “I see,” he drawls.

Still without speaking, Oikawa wanders over to his booth and sits down, pulling out his sketchbook and opening to one that looks half finished.

“Rough night?” Terushima prods, leaning forward.

“Fun night,” Oikawa corrects. His voice is a bit scratchy, and Terushima bites his tongue, elated at what a mess the other man is and what teasing this is sure to bring on. “You should turn the AC up before we open, Teru-chan, it’s a bit hot in here.” He unwinds the scarf, leaving it draped open around his neck.

Terushima’s teeth clamp on the inside of his cheek as he tries to keep quiet, because Oikawa’s neck looks like a  _ warzone. _ He’s wearing a shirt that hides his collarbones and top of his chest, but Teru is  _ sure  _ the marks extend far downward.

“Good morning Teru, asphyxiation victim,” Mattsun yawns as he walks in, nodding to teach of them in turn. Kyoutani, bleary eyed behind him, coughs a short laugh when he sees Oikawa. Not wasting the energy on further jabs, the two of them head to their own stations to begin setting up for the day. Yahaba and Makki enter in due time, and eventually Iwaizumi and Watari come in through the door to Iwaizumi’s apartment above the shop.

The seven of them mill about for a while, setting up, checking appointment times, planning lunch, until Iwaizumi calls for a staff meeting. It’s traditional on a Friday morning.

“Is anyone running low on ink?” he asks.

“Looks like Oikawa spilled all the red on his neck,” Mattsun smirks.

“Still trying to perfect your nebula technique?” Makki adds.

Oikawa shoots them both glares as Kyoutani manages to snicker, “I’m almost out of mint green.”

“There’s a new case in the back,” Terushima supplies. He knows, he ordered it.

Mattsun clears his throat. “I’m actually low on plum,” he says, then grins terribly as his eyes land on Oikawa’s neck again. “Oh, nevermind, I found where it went.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. Terushima hesitates, unsure if he should write down that they need that or not. “No more bullying Oikawa for his poor life choices,” Iwaizumi snaps. “And will you put that scarf back on, please? Before we get a customer.” He tosses his own glance toward Oikawa’s neck. “People are going to think you’re a slut.”

Oikawa blinks back at him slowly. “I  _ am _ a slut.”

“Slut is a derogatory term,” Makki drawls from across the room. “You gotta refer to it as ‘sexually liberal.’” He throws in a wink.

The bell above the door chimes.

“What are we?” Mattsun asks, “American sex democrats?”

A man stands in the doorway, eyebrows raised in mild alarm. “Is this a bad time?”

* * *

Yahaba beckons to Watari from the front desk, where he sits beside Terushima. Sparing a quick glance at Iwaizumi, lost in his work, Watari scampers over.

“What’s up?” he asks, eyeing the way the two of them are hunched behind the desk, peering over it in a way that looks  _ much  _ more suspicious than just looking around the large iMac like normal people.

“Does Oikawa seem a little down to you?” Yahaba asks, nodding toward the older man. He’s at his bench, working on the lines for part of a guy’s sleeve. Usually he talks his customer’s ears off, chatting and joking and laughing easily. “He’s hardly said a word since he started working.”

“Maybe he’s just focusing?”

Terushima flips his hair out of his eyes. “He’s never had a problem focusing while talking to his customers before.”

“Could be because Makki and Mattsun tore him to pieces this morning,” Watari suggests. They had turned the AC up as per Oikawa’s request, so he could rewrap the scarf.

But Yahaba purses his lips. “Listen… I’ve worked here for a while. Oikawa’s…  _ sexual escapades _ are nothing new, and certainly not new teasing material. He’s endured this exact treatment dozens of times.”

Watari frowns. “We should do something to cheer him up, then?”

The two on the other side of the counter consider this.

“Okay.”

“Yeah.”

Iwaizumi isn’t doing anything other than working on sketches, so they call him over as well. Oikawa watches him move across the shop with sharp eyes, his every move noticed and catalogued. Watari represses a shiver. Very little escapes Oikawa.

“Why aren’t you three working?” is the first thing Iwaizumi asks when he reaches the counter.

Yahaba very pointedly enters something into the day’s appointment book, Terushima dumps the pen mug out and begins testing them on a scrap of paper. Watari gives him his best innocent smile.

“Fine,” Iwaizumi sighs, “What do you want?”

“Oikawa-san is miserable,” Yahaba says, flat out.

One dark eyebrow goes up. “And?”

“We should cheer him up!”

“How are we going to do that?”

“Maybe  _ you  _ should kiss him,” Terushima smirks, “I'm sure that would help.”

Despite his growing blush, Iwaizumi glares at him. “Don't be stupid. We’ll just take him to see a movie or something. He loves going to the theater.”

Yahaba sits back to open a new tab on his computer. “I’ll see what’s playing.”

* * *

They send Makki and Mattsun to talk to him. Probably a bad idea, since as far as they know these two put him in such a foul mood in the first place, but they have the most upbeat energy in the shop, so there wasn’t much a choice.

“Hey there, kiddo,” Makki greets, plopping down on the now empty customer bench.

Oikawa glances up from cleaning the needle in his hands. “Oh. Hey.”

“You got any plans for tonight?” Mattsun asks, limiting himself to only one pointed glance at Oikawa’s neck.

His hands rise to wrap around the fabric, but Oikawa shakes his head.

Mattsun clears his throat. “May I interest you in a Star War?”

Oikawa raises his eyebrows. “I’m sorry?”

“You should be,” Makki coughs.

“Stop that.” Matsukawa straightens his back. “The latest Star War is playing tonight. May we interest –”

“First of all,” Oikawa says, squinting at the two of them. Makki smiles sheepishly. “It’s Star  _ Wars _ , plural. Second of all, why are you being nice to me?”

The two glance at each other quickly, then over Oikawa’s shoulders at the boys at the counter. The four of them make every expression from an exaggerated, ‘I don’t know,’ to aggressive shooing motions.

“Ah, well, we thought we’d… Do something to bond with you!” Makki blurts, “Cuz we don’t talk anymore.”

Oikawa’s squint grows even more suspicious. “We talk every day. We work together six days a week. And you can’t really talk much at a movie.”

“Are you coming or not, Starrykawa?”

* * *

“Iwa-chan is being so  _ nice _ to me,” Oikawa hums as the six of them enter the theater. Terushima and Watari had suspiciously waved the others ahead, snickering to themselves as they jostled Yahaba over to Kyoutani before bolting.

“I’m not being nice,” Iwaizumi huffs, snatching up the bag of popcorn from the counter.

“Of course you are,” Oikawa insists, “Buying me movie tickets, popcorn, large slushie…”

“Oi!!” Mattsun calls from behind them, “I bought your ticket!”

“And I paid for your slushie!” Makki adds.

“And this is  _ my  _ popcorn,” Iwaizumi huffs, holding it away from his best friend.

“You people are embarrassing,” Kyoutani mutters. Yahaba nods in agreement, despite clearly attempting to hide a laugh behind his hands.

Oikawa ignores all of them. “Iwa-chan isn’t such a brute after all! He really does love me!”

Iwaizumi looks ready for murder. “I don’t know kind of fantasy world you’re living in, Shittykawa, but let me just tell you…”

“Tell me what, Iwa-chan. How much you loooove me?”

“I will shove this whole bucket up your ass.”

“They’ll write stories about you two,” Mattsun sighs dreamily, coming up beside Iwaizumi and throwing an arm around his shoulders.

Makki comes up on Oikawa’s other side, sandwiching the two with Mattsun. “They’ll call it, ‘Local Trashcan Finds Love,’” he adds, spreading the hand not wrapped around Oikawa through the air as if imagining the sign.

“We should leave,” Kyoutani mutters from a few feet back, “We should definitely leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also: one that doesn't fit w what i already wrote but i saw my cousin and her husband do this and thought it was nice
> 
> Oikawa blinks, looking up across the shop at Iwaizumi. His screen goes dark as he stares.  
> Iwaizumi finally looks up. “What?” he asks around a mouthful of rice.  
> “Did you just send me a Facebook request?”  
> Iwaizumi drops his wrist back. “Yeah?”  
> Oikawa blinks again as Iwaizumi swallows. “We’re married.”  
> “Yeah, so we should probably be Facebook friends?”


	3. What More Do You Crave??

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my brother works in staples, but i prefer the environment of like a corner store. do they have staples in japan?? idk. these are his tales.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternatively titled: kenma is suffering

Kenma shows up for work looking dead on his feet. His uniform and hair are rumpled, and his eyes are bloodshot, sitting above dark bags.

“What the  _ hell  _ happened to you?” Kuroo demands.

“You look like trash,” Yaku agrees.

“It's nice to know I have such caring friends,” Kenma deadpans, stepping up to the counter.

“For real though, what's the matter with you?” Kuroo presses.

Kenma sighs. “New roommate. Loud music all night. Couldn't sleep till he left a few hours ago.”

Yaku eyes him. “Are you sure you don't want to go get some more sleep? I can stay if you need, I don't mind.”

Kenma shakes his head.

“You can stay at my place if he gets too obnoxious,” Kuroo offers. Kenma's about to thank him, but Kuroo keeps talking. “I always have room for my wittle kitty witty,” he adds in a baby voice, making kissy lips.

Kenma punches him in the chest.

* * *

Yaku quite likes this job. He likes his coworkers. Especially Kuroo, who is exceedingly dramatic in the best way possible.

As they stand behind the counter together, he watches quietly as Kuroo angrily taps out a message on Snapchat, only to receive what looks like a sticker. His next message goes out in all caps.

“What are you doing?” Yaku questions, leaning forward as Kuroo aggressively hits the power button. A moment later, his phone lights up with a Snapchat from ‘purin.’

Kuroo groans. “Kenma made a bitmoji three days ago.  _ Three days.” _

Yaku blinks at him. “That’s like a snapchat icon, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Kuroo whines, opening the snapchat. Now that he’s closer, Yaku recognizes it as just what Kuroo said: a bitmoji resembling Kenma grinning as it flips off the screen.

“So… What’s the problem?”

“It's the only way he’ll speak to me,” Kuroo explains, holding out his phone. “No matter what I say, he replies with a bitmoji sticker. I’m losing my mind.”

“What does he do… in person?” Yaku asks, trying to laugh as he scrolls through their previous messages. Kenma’s messages contain no words, only stickers.

“I haven't seen him in person. He’s been visiting his parents.” Kuroo groans again, dropping his head in his hands. “Yakkun, what am I going to  _ do?” _

Unable to hold in any longer, Yaku finally chuckles. “Just keep talking to him. I’m sure eventually he’ll get sick of it as well and talk to you like normal.”

“But it’s been  _ three days. _ I thought he’d be back to normal by now but…”

Yaku just laughs, patting his coworker on the back.

* * *

Kenma hates almost nothing in this world as much as he hates the fact that Kuroo has been promoted to manager.

It’s not that he’s too strict or too serious all of a sudden, it’s not that he acts any differently at all. It’s just that he  _ takes _ himself so seriously now, with about five hundred extra layers of irony piled on top. He responds to everything seriously, but the way he does it such a joke that it makes Kenma want to freeze himself to death among the assorted frozen vegetables in aisle one.

“Kuroo,” Yamamoto calls from the back room, where’s he’s taking inventory or doing something else that Kenma doesn’t concern himself with.

Kuroo, previously milling around behind the counter while Kenma rung someone up, straightens his back, turning and striding toward the back. “Yes, Yamamoto-kun,” he answers, voice pitched low and face set way too seriously for someone in charge of the two employees in a corner store.

He stands in the doorway to the back room like he’s surveying a kingdom. Kenma hands the customer her change with a look in his eyes that begs her to kill him. She smiles as she takes it.

As soon as she’s gone, Kenma makes his way down the last aisle, stepping into the back room to observe.

Yamamoto is pointing to various piles of boxes. “We’re almost out of the beef flavor noodles, but we have like, fourteen boxes of chicken. I can’t even taste the difference but I guess beef is more popular so we need more of those. And somehow no one noticed but there literally isn’t a single crate of milk boxes back here.”

“‘I see,’ said the blind man,” Kuro muses, face still overly serious and stroking his chin as if it holds a long beard.

“God, you sound so stupid when you speak,” Kenma mutters.

Kuroo ignores him. “What else, my darling young stock boy.  _ What more do you crave.” _

Kenma leaves the back room.

* * *

Normally, Kenma likes graveyard shifts. Anyone else would be bored out of their damn minds, as no one normally comes into a corner store between ten pm and five am, but Kenma enjoys it. He doesn’t have to talk to people, for one. He can sit around and play on his phone or DS, because who’s going to tell him otherwise at three thirty am when nothing matters.

But he’s been sick for the past week.

He’s not sick any _ more, _ but a five day long cold takes its toll on the body, leaving Kenma slow and tired most of the time, and overall unwilling to work for seven hours in the dead of night.

As Kuroo tries to act like he’s not literally asleep at the counter, Kenma moves slowly through the aisles, restocking things that really don’t need to be restocked. But the light from his DS was giving him a headache, and he doesn’t feel mentally present enough to wake Kuroo up for a game of cards, so this is all he really has left to do.

Kenma pauses in front of the cereal. He can feel his lungs starting to seize up, can feel that he’s about to –

He steps away from the food to cough into his fist a few times, relieved to notice that it’s nothing like the wet hacking he’s been doing for the past few days. It sounds more like a normal cough.

Immediately, Kuroo’s head lifts from the counter, eyes opening. “Kenma?” he calls across the store, “Are you okay?”

Lowering his fist, Kenma makes eye contact with him across the top of the shelves. “Just let me die, Kuro,” he replies, deadpan as ever.


	4. Seven More Minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my best friend is interning at a library, mostly with grad kids. these are things she mostly overhears

If there’s one thing Konoha and Yukie like to do, it’s argue.

Maybe not  _ argue, _ more like debate things, but it can get pretty heated, and someone has to remind them that they work in  _ library, _ and they need to be  _ quiet. _

“He’d be a fucking Gryffindor,” Yukie hisses, jabbing her finger at Konoha’s chest.

“You’re literally wrong.”

“I’m literally not. Look at him, look at that hair and tell me it belongs in Hufflepuff. Look at those biceps and tell me.”

Konoha very pointedly looks Bokuto up and down, oblivious where he’s double checking the week’s online schedule against the book. He looks back at Yukie. “Hufflepuff.”

“How. Explain your convoluted logic to me again.”

All at ease, Konoha leans back in his chair. “Look at those eyes,” he says, flicking a few fingers in Bo’s direction. “Those are the eyes of someone who only wants the best for other people.”

“Yeah, if other people is only Akaashi,” Yukie snorts.

“Hey, give him a little more credit. Also he’s dedicated, hardworking –”

“That’s pretty much  _ all _ houses,” Yukie argues.

Konoha levels her with a  _ look. _ “Have I been interrupting you? No. He’s loyal, he’s honest, he believes in sparing other people’s feelings.”

“Are you done?”

“Yes.”

“Loyalty is one of the biggest traits of a Gryffindor,” Yukie announces. “He’s brave, he’s courageous, he’s adventurous… I’m right.”

Konoha lets out a short laugh. “If you were right, I would agree with you.”

Yukie slaps a hand over her chest, utterly betrayed.

* * *

“Where is Bokuto-san?” Akaashi demands, glaring at the clock like it can be held accountable. “His shift starts in nine minutes.” He whirls back to the schedule in the book in his lap, tapping Bokuto’s name and his start time in agitation.

“Yeah,  _ nine  _ minutes,” Yukie drawls, fiddling with a pen. “Hasn’t started yet. He’s not late.”

“Maybe not yet, but he’s usually here by now.”

“So?” Konoha says without looking up from where he’s logging out of his computer. “I never show up with more than a minute left before my shift.”

“Yes, and we all hate you for it,” Akaashi tells him.

“Ooh, don’t sugar coat it, babe,” Yukie drawls.

“Eight minutes,” Akaashi snaps.

“Why do you care so much anyway?” Yukie asks, trying to cover a yawn. “It’s not like it matters to you.”

Akaashi snaps the book closed. “Because the later Bokuto-san is, the longer Konoha has to stay. And the longer he stays, the more annoying he gets.”

Konoha whips his head up. “Hey!”

Yukie gives him a look like they both know it’s true, and Konoha relents when his phone buzzes.

“No phones during your shift,” Akaashi tells him, and Konoha makes a point of closing the Snapchat and laying his phone face down on the desk.

“Seven minutes,” he says flatly.

“Yes, and for seven more minutes, it should be  _ away.” _

Reluctantly, Konoha slides his phone back into his pocket.

Time goes slowly, for a few minutes. Akaashi cracks his knuckles enough times that Yukie’s eye is twitching by the end, Konoha shoos a little boy away from the group of maybe-asleep college students. When the front door opens to admit one nonchalant looking Bokuto, Yukie nearly shouts in excitement at something  _ happening. _

Konoha, contrary to normal, looks confused to see him.

“How did you get here so fast?” he demands, throwing the pen his hand over the counter and missing Bokuto’s shoulder. He looks at it for a moment before bending to pick it up.

“What do you mean?” he asks, walking behind the counter and placing the pen in front of Konoha as he passes.

“You sent me a Snapchat four minutes ago of your laptop, you were watching Kung Fu Panda.”

“You were what?” Akaashi demands.

Bokuto blinks, sliding his coat off his shoulders and for once ignoring the younger boy. “I have a car.”

* * *

Akaashi slams his phone on the table. “I think God is dead,” he announces.

Konoha, flopped backwards in his chair with a pen his mouth, grunts something that might be a ‘why?’

“I just got an email from the boss. We are to install –”

“Why were you checking your email on your phone?” Konoha demands, letting the pen fall to the ground.

“Throw that pen away, God you’re disgusting,” Yukie mumbles.

“No, hold on.” Konoha sits up. “I wanna know why I can’t use my phone with eight minutes left in my shift but he can use it right in the middle for something he could be doing  _ on the computer.” _

Akaashi sits up straighter. “What I’m doing is work related.”

“I was asking Bo why the fuck he was gonna be late, that was work related,” Konoha argues.

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Yukie says with an eye roll. “Why is God dead, Akaashi?”

“Right.” He turns to his computer and pulls up the email so they can all see. “Upstairs in the Young Adult section, we are to install a cardboard standup display for all of the Twilight books and movies.”

Konoha goes pale.

Yukie gags.

_ “Why?” _ they demand at the same time.

“Those books haven’t been popular since we were in high school.”

“The last movie came out at  _ least _ five years ago.”

Akaashi groans. “I don’t make the rules. The pieces for it are coming in three days.”

Yukie bangs her head on the desk.

“Why couldn’t they do a Harry Potter one, or something?” Konoha wails, “At least a new one of those came out kind of recently. People will  _ always _ love Harry Potter.”

“Or Star Wars!” Yukie adds, forehead still pressed to the linoleum. “One of those just came out too, and they’re still making more.”

Akaashi shakes his head and repeats, “Not my call. I’m just going to make Bokuto-san set it up.”

Yukie and Konoha exchange a glance. “Agreed.”

* * *

Needless to say, working in a library gets pretty dry. The four of them truly have nothing better to do most of the time than stick their noses in each other’s business.

Except for Akaashi, who remains tight lipped on practically everything. Yukie and Konoha have turned it into a game, as is their prerogative.

Today is Konoha’s turn.

Desperate to know and terrible at hiding it, he leans backward against the desk beside where Akaashi sits, making a new sign for the children’s section. The old one met its demise at the hands of, predictably, a child.

“‘Kaashi, babe,” he starts with a smile. Akaashi doesn’t spare him a glance. “How’s it hanging?”

“If by ‘it’ you mean the new sign,” he starts, and God does he sound bored, “I assure you it will be hanging straighter than Yukie.”

Yukie, pretending not to be listening nearby, spits out her coffee.

Konoha makes an almost smooth recovery, only coughing once as he tries not to swallow air. “What are you doing tonight?” he continues, figuring if Akaashi’s in  _ this  _ kind of mood it’s better to just ask his question and get his turn over with.

Akaashi tweaks the gradient of the background, then saves the file. “Bokuto, hopefully,” he replies, flat faced as ever.

Konoha chokes.


End file.
